Wings
by XxFleurdelySxX
Summary: A different life and different choices, for a well known Angel. Chap.6: Spandex friends.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Nota Bene : Hello there everyone. You probably jumped a few feet to see my name in your alert (for those who forgot to delete me from it, unless you were actually hoping I'd come back; in that case I'm flattered, albeit a bit surprised). For the others, I'll pretend I'm new. Those who know me know I've only written Romy so far, but I decided to try something new this time. I haven't written in a while; with finishing college, getting married, being a teacher in high school and having a little baby, you'll understand I haven't had much time. Maternity leave is starting to give me a lot of free time (happens when baby starts to play by himself), though, and since I pretty much lost interest in what I was writing before I disappeared, I'm starting this. _

_Long NB. Sorry. Go read._

_Enjoy!_

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**Wings**

**Chapter 1**

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Little did I know everything was going to end the way it did, but what can I say. People make mistakes, and they learn from them. Some of the little mistakes can help your life be better in the long run; you learn from the consequences of your actions, and try your best not to do it again.

Some bigger mistakes can make your life miserable, but optimists will tell me that there's a silver lining in all skies, whether they're the brightest blue, or the darkest grey. I know the sky like the palm of my own hand, and I've seen skies where no silver lining could be seen.

I say you always have a choice. Those who say that sometimes you don't are simply afraid of consequences, or realize the consequences are too much to pay for doing something. But you do have the choice.

Some mistakes take your life away. Perhaps in that case is it still possible to say you don't have a choice… or do you?

I've made mistakes in my life. Oh, so many of them, too. And now, I realize them. I always have, I think, only it is now that I pay for them.

Perhaps I should start from the very beginning.

* * *

My name is Warren Worthington the third. I got my name from my father, who himself had it from my grandfather. Some might think it isn't the most original way to name children, but to me, and to the rest of the family, it was an honor. My grandfather started his business out of almost nothing, making it successful. My father worked hard as well to make it bigger, more important; adding, each year, another domain to Worthington Industries. By the time I was born, a silver spoon in my mouth, the family business had offices all over the world and controlled the worlds of transportation, science and medicine, to name only a few. 

I was raised in such a world; born as boy billionaire, and a handsome kid in a world of business sharks. I was taught everything, every single detail in the company management, knowing that some day it would come to me to lead the successful Industries. From my mother I learned to read all about a person; guess their thoughts, simply by the way they looked at you, or looked away; their words, the tone of their voice. It isn't a flawless technique, I realized that over the years. I am nothing close to a telepath, no. Oh, how _that_ would have made everything so much easier. From my father I got stubbornness, and the ability to have everything my way in the most diplomatic way possible.

And from them both, or perhaps from their behavior as parents – or the absence of it – I learned how to fend for myself and make my own decisions.

I spent my life in New York, from birth to death. My first life, that is. From the moment everything I knew, everything I was used to was washed away to leave place to a complete fiasco, my life ended. I "died", and started a new life as someone completely different. Starting anew isn't always a good thing. For most people it is a _choice_, not an obligation, but not everyone is so lucky. I wasn't given a choice. My first life was short, too; I was only 15 when everything around me went to hell.

I was sent to a boys' school for my high school years. Uniforms and squeaky shoes, dangerously verbally violent teachers, for the most part, and a school packed with nothing but snobs, myself included (I won't start this with modesty; it's one of the things my parents never showed me, and certainly not something you learn by yourself). I was the perfect golden son. Perfect grades, an impressive athlete, more friends than I needed; I had everything on my side. Then…

Then, I was 15 when it started.

Like all boys my age, my height exploded from a shy 5'4" to a little more than average 6' in the matter of a school year, making my mother's eyes widen considerably at Thanksgiving and the Spring break. I lost weight, a lot of it, and enough to worry my doctor. I remember laughing at him. I ate like a 15 yr old (which is about as much as three normal adults), and still the scale went down each time I stepped on it until it reached a clean 115 lbs. I'll let you imagine what I looked like, and dare anyone to call themselves a "scrawny" kid. I was scary. It scared my mother. I bothered my father. And it was starting to scare me, as well. My arms were too long. My legs were too long. And I was starting to have trouble on days where the wind was strong, I swear.

I ate, god, I ate like each meal was my last one. I heard somewhere that muscles weighted more than fat, and since the second was apparently impossible to get, I started some training. It worked. In fact, it felt like it was the only thing my body was waiting for. My shoulders widened, my arms and legs got bigger, filling with lean, strong muscles, and I got a chest I was pretty proud of by the time I celebrated my 16th birthday.

And what a birthday it was.

* * *

I met Cameron on our first day at school that, obviously. I had been there before, it was his first time at this school after moving from Virginia. We met at our dorm room door, both of us with a suitcase in hand, and he arched a dark eyebrow at me. "Looks like we're together?" 

I smirked, letting him reach for his own key and open the door. "Apparently." I followed him in, frowning slightly when he picked the far bed, close to the window. I dropped my suitcase next to the other on the other side of the room, turning to look around. "I'm Warren," I said, glancing at him as he plopped down on his mattress. "Warren Worthington III."

"Cameron Hodge," he let out, looking up at me, and smirked. "The _third_?"

I snorted softly, sitting down as well, and nodded. "There's nothing after Junior, and that's my father, so they went with that for me."

He chuckled. "Original."

I shrugged slightly, smiling up at him. "I don't mind, I like it. Makes it sound like a name you have to be worthy of."

Flopping on his back, he laughed up at the ceiling. "Aren't you a humble soul."

We could have been enemies then, but we became friends quickly.

* * *

"He can ram it up for all I care, I'm not doing it." George let out a sigh as we all chuckled. "We already have four assignments to hand in for his class! What is he trying to do? Make us do homework 'till death ensues?" 

"No, I think he's aiming for death by boredom," Cameron mumbled, leaning back against the tree.

"What if he's just trying to help us? You know, by making us work harder?" We all glared up at Jonas, who raised his hands in defense. He even took a step back. "It'll make Mr. Fitzpatrick's class look easier next year?" he tried again to save himself. "My brother was a senior two years ago, he told me it was even worse than Mr. Thompson's."

"Nice try, Johnny," I breathed, turning to look at the street. It was lunchtime, and we were standing outside in front of the school. It was only the beginning of March, and barely, but the weather was the same as late April, the sun shinning down hard, and coats discarded inside the school. The sweater we were all wearing were enough already, and everyone was outside, eating, chatting, and for some, getting in trouble. We weren't, though. Simply thinking of what my father would do with my skin if he got a single negative call from the principal was enough to keep me from even trying to be a second late in class.

It was a private school for boys, but someone had thought it a good idea to build a private school for girls two blocks away. It took the whole point of making it "private", in my opinion, especially considering girls ventured closer often enough. Three of them were heading in our direction, too, green and yellow plaid skirts flowing around their thighs, and grinned at us as they stepped closer. "Hey boys," a blonde said. A red head, a brunette and a black haired girl. It was almost cliché, but all of us stood a bit straighter like the teenage males we were.

"Hi, Warren."

All eyes narrowed at me. I smirked back at the guys, and turned to the brunette. "Hi Candy."

The blonde's grin widened and she opened her mouth to speak, and Candy smiled at me and Cameron, tilting her head to the side in a "wanna escape?" way. We were more than eager to get away from what seemed like girly blabbering, and followed her.

We were always together, at least when she could get out of her school, or didn't have to go to her parents' house in Michigan. Candy, Cameron and I became a trio. She was a year younger than us boys, but her loud mouth and reckless attitude caught up with us, and made us "accept" her with us. People thought of a love triangle, but with Cameron and I at 15, and her at 14, we didn't agree. Of course, that would change with time, but I haven't gotten there yet.

* * *

I was going to turn 16 two days later. It was Friday but there was no school that day or the next Monday, and Cameron had gone to visit his family for the long weekend. 

Thank God for small mercies.

It started as a tingling, like a bug crawling up my back at any moment of the day. It lasted for a few weeks, annoying me to no end, but I didn't think much of it, making Cameron roll on his bed with laughter each time I would try to reach the impossible spots in my itching back.

Then it started to hurt.

I compare it to those dreadful calf or foot cramps people tend to get while they sleep. Night was, in fact, when it would hit me, most of the time. I would wake up, shivers running up and down my spine as my back arched against the mattress, my shoulders feeling as it they were being pulled apart and cramps all over my back. It would always fade, and I would fall asleep again without waking a curious Cameron on the other side of the room; but as the event became more frequent, and more painful, I grew worried that something serious might be wrong. As long as it only happened during the night, though, I didn't do anything.

Not that I did much when it got worse.

I was in the shower after a football game, one day, when it caught me during the day for the first time. Of course it had to be with all the other boys, and I winced in pain, my whole body tensing, fingers gripping my hair as I hid my face from the others. It was worse than all the other times, probably because I was standing. At least it was what I thought, until there was a startled exclamation from whoever was next to me. "Warren!" he let out, making me glance at him. He was staring at my back, though. "Jeez, man, how did you get hurt like that? You're bleeding all over the place!"

I froze, before glancing down at the tiled floor where, obviously, blood was dripping from my back and down my legs, mixing with the soapy water and twirling around the drains. My stomach lurched, threatening to send my lunch back up my throat, and I let out a small gasp as I backed up against the wall. It hurt even more, though, and I let out a soft groan before escaping the shower and grabbing a towel, ignoring the other boys' questions.

I hid in my room all day, my back shuddering in pain, and blood pouring from it. I had looked in the mirror to see my back torn in two places, between the shoulder blade and the spine. When I finally gathered the guts to reach back and touch the torn skin, I all but threw up when I touched… _something_ coming out of it. My stomach didn't take much more, though, and pulling back a bloody hand in front of my face was the final straw. I spent an hour in the bathroom throwing up everything I might had eaten in the last three days, before crawling back to my bed.

The cramps didn't fade. In fact, they were growing worse. I was somewhere between consciousness and sleep as I reached back then and again, tears welling to my eyes each time I would find the things coming out of my back bigger each time. They were _growing_. It felt as if they were being pushed out after being inside for too long, bony things that kept growing longer.

Someone said that your body has enough sense to make you pass out from the worst pains. It would have been preferable, but I didn't have that luck. The pain kept me awake, and fear kept me from going to anyone. Blood soaked my bed sheets before long, and I hid my face in my pillow to muffle screams when it got so painful it brought me to the edge of unconsciousness. I wished for it, begged for it, but another cramp would always bring me back, and the whole time it lasted, I was awake, trembling, sweating, bleeding like a pig, and feeling like a red hot knife was cutting through my flesh.

I leave the rest of the night to your imagination.

At some point I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up in the morning, my face in my pillow. My back was sore, and the room reeked with the smell of blood, making my stomach twist painfully again. I was weak. Not very surprising, taking into consideration I had apparently lost half the blood my body could contain. I crawled out of bed and towards the bathroom, and managed to pull myself up to my feet to look at the mirror.

It took everything I had left not to faint again. Dots danced in front of my eyes, and my fingers tightened on the rim of the sink as I stared at my reflection.

I was covered in blood.

My pants were obviously ruined, and dried blood was sticking to my bare chest. My blonde hair was matted with it as well, wide, scared pale blue eyes staring back at me. But what I was looking at, my heart sinking to the bottom of my chest at phenomenal speeds, were the two long, bony limbs coming out of my back. I could see them, folded about two feet over my shoulders, and the tips reaching down at knee height, at least seven ft long, each of them. I reached a trembling hand to touch one, sinking down to my feet on the cold tiled floor

Imagine the surprise. You reach out to touch something completely alien, something that wasn't part of your body hours ago, and you _feel_ the touch. I could feel it, plain as day, as if I simply was touching my arm. I was shaking now, my whole body was as I ran a finger on the soft, pink skin, and gasped softly when it flinched. God, it was _ticklish_. It felt weird, too. The skin was soft, but there was something else, and as I looked closer, I saw white, small, soft growths coming through the skin. I touched it, and my mind lightened with understanding. Don't get me wrong, I didn't understand _why_; but I could recognize bird down when I saw it. The limbs were covered with it, tiny feathers that I could only guess would grow into large ones. Wings.

There were wings, gigantic wings, protruding out of my back.

And I was turning into a monster.

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_I promise updates soon, if y'all like it._

_Disclaimer (because I think I have to) : Fanfiction (n.) From "fan" (one who admires; one who esteems or loves greatly) and "fiction" (that which is feigned, invented, or imagined; especially, a feigned or invented story, whether oral or written). This story is merely an alternate version of the Marvel-verse. Events in this story are sometimes based on the "true" facts (true in a very large sense, since they are pure fiction themselves) of Warren Worthington's life, sometimes completely made up by the author's mind (and muse). There is no use in commenting that something didn't "really happen like that at all" or that I got something wrong. That being said, anything related to the X-men (X-men, villains, any known name, plot or character) belongs to Marvel. Everything that doesn't come from the Marvel-verse belongs, pretty obviously, to me. Marvel makes (a lot of) money with their stories. I (really) don't make money with fanfiction (unless they install a Paypal button somewhere at some point, but I doubt it'll happen, and then Marvel could sue me). Any feeling of déjà-vu can be blamed on the large number (I'm only guessing, I haven't read much really) of fanfiction stories already written on the subject; I am not a thief, I have enough imagination to write a story by myself without stealing others' ideas. That was a long-a disclaimer, but I will not repeat it in each chapter, because it's as annoying to write as it is to read, and I think everyone has enough sense to start reading the story with the first chapter (-- insert "duh"--). If you even read so far, you're good._


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's NB : Thanks for reading this ! A big hug for the two friends who reviewed, and a friendly slap on the shoulder for those who didn't. What do yah know, I begrudge._

_Enjoy!_

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**Wings**

**Chapter 2**

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I don't know how long I sat in the bathroom, my forehead pressed to the bathroom counter. When the lighting went down I realized it was evening. I wasn't hungry, though, and my stomach still felt like it was going to turn against me any following second. I stripped out of my pants and crawled to the bath, unsure if my knees would hold me up, and stood on all fours as I yanked the shower curtain closed and turned on the hot water. It was when I felt it on my cheeks that I began to cry, watching the red water go down the drain. I waited until the water falling off me was clear before shutting my eyes and leaning forward until my forehead rested against the now warm enamel.

I was a mutant.

I had heard about them on television, and like everyone else, I hadn't given it much thought. Some people were dead afraid of them, others were fascinated, and most were indifferent to it until they met one. Or in some cases, until they became one.

What was I going to do?

They were still bare, those long things coming out of my back, looking freakishly ridiculous with their tiny little feathers. I would have laughed if it wasn't _my_ back. Perhaps I could hide them now, but considering how big they already were, I wasn't sure I could still hide them as well when they would be complete with feathers.

I shivered when the water ran cold and turned the faucet off. I dried myself with a towel before stepping inside the room again, pulling underwear and a pair of pants out of my drawer and putting them on. I stood still then, staring at the bloodied bed, and took a deep breath before tearing the bed sheets off of it. I tossed them in a garbage bag and replaced them with clean ones. I opened the little refrigerator we had for an apple, and flopped down on the mattress as I munched on it. I forced myself to breathe deeply, shutting my eyes and forcing the apple down my throat.

It worked, though. I was feeling better. I looked out the window, the sky already very dark. I was supposed to take the train this afternoon to go to my parents for my birthday the next day. I was late and they would worry, but there was no way I was ever going to go there and show myself to them. I stood up, walking to the window, and leaned my hands on the window sill, frowning out at the school grounds. How I was going to hide such things _here_, I had no idea.

My mother would have a heart attack.

My father honestly didn't need that kind of publicity.

I couldn't go home, it was a given. Could I stay in school? I pulled the curtains over the window and turned the lights on when it became too dark, and spent the last hours of the day trying to pull the "wings" closer to my back. It felt like having no control over your arms, and it was disturbing; but as I practiced, pulled them closer, opened them, and learned to move them by my own will instead of having them simply hang in my back, I gained a certain control over the two things. After a number of hours I didn't count, I was able to hug them close enough to my body to be able to wrap them up with what available bandages were in the bathroom, and although it rather felt like a strait jacket, I was able to pull a t-shirt over my head.

I glanced at the mirror and sighed. I looked like a weird hunchback, but adding the sweater helped. How I was going to _stand_ the heavy sweater with the summer coming was something I would deal with later on. How I was going to hide the "wings" from Cameron, though, was a more immediate problem.

* * *

The feathers had grown during the next two days. White and soft, they tickled my back and made it harder to put the bandages on. They were making the wings longer, too, and I started to worry that the longer feathers at the tips would start showing under the hem of my shirt. I could hardly tuck them in my pants, and was more than recalcitrant to the idea of simply plucking them off. I had had enough pain for a weekend.

I was sitting on my bed by the wall when Cameron walked back in the room. I had gathered the pillows in the corner of the wall, and was leaning back against them, my homework in my lap. I had the rather firm intention of staying there until Cameron was either gone out or asleep. He let out a deep sigh as he plopped face first on his bed. "I have a theory," he announced, his voice coming out muffled through the pillow.

I felt my nervousness fade a bit, and chuckled, looking back down at my books. "Oh, really? A theory about what?"

"When you leave home, your mother stops being annoying to anyone. She's saving it all for when you come back. That's why she's a thousand times worse when you do go home." I simply smiled, not responding, and he turned his head so his cheek laid on the pillow, staring at me. "Are you alright?"

I licked my lips, nodding. "Yeah. I didn't sleep much."

"I tried calling yesterday, for your birthday, but you didn't pick up."

I glanced up at him. He was still staring at me, now turned on his side and propped up on his forearm. "I was sick, I didn't feel like picking up. A lot of people called and left messages."

He seemed satisfied with that, and nodded, switching to another subject. "How was the game? It sucks that I missed it."

It reminded me of the shower incident, and I lowered my gaze back at the books. "It sucked, too. We lost." He rolled his eyes and turned on his back, staring at the ceiling. He didn't say anything else, and soon I heard his snore, smiling sadly to myself as I looked back at my math book. I felt the wings twitch uncomfortably in my back, asking to be left free as they had been in the last two days, but I ignored it, my heart squeezing at the thought of what I would have to do to keep them a secret.

* * *

"Why are you doing this, Warren?"

I looked up from my lunch to see Cameron standing in front of my table, eyebrows drawn in a deep frown. I was sitting in a corner of the room, away from the table where I usually would eat with Cameron and the others. I had acted like this for a week now. I ignored him in our room, sat in the back of the classrooms so that no one would be behind me, and stopped hanging out with our group of friends. In fact, I avoided them at all costs, and stayed alone as much as I could. It had worked until now. "What do you mean?" I asked in the coldest voice I could manage.

Maybe a bit too cold. His face changed, his expression fading to something angrier. "What is the matter with you!"

"You just came here to yell at me?" I asked, frowning at him.

"Yes! You're being a complete jerk to everyone, and I want to know why."

I snorted and looked down at my lunch again, picking at a piece of meat with my fork. My appetite was quickly fading, my stomach filling with something that felt like cold lead. "Don't see why it should be any of your business."

"Don't make me feel like this is a waste of my time, Warren. You know I'm not patient."

I looked back up at him, this time to shoot him a cold glare. "Well if you're _so_ willing to help, of course, take a seat," I spat.

He rolled his eyes, sighing. My eyebrows rose when he did sit down, though, straddling the chair and crossing his arms over the back of it. He stared at me a long moment, then, and arched an eyebrow. "Okay, shoot."

My eyes rolled as well, and I shook my head. "Can't you understand sarcasm when you hear it?"

"Yeah, but I ignore it." There was true concern in his eyes, and I was tempted to tell him everything for a second or two, when he continued with something that made me frown. "Sarcasm is just a way to show that you're afraid of the real words."

My eyebrows drew together. "Leave me alone, Cameron. Just because you want to know something, doesn't mean I want to tell you."

His eyes darkened. "You know, I'm about to be really annoyed about this."

I looked down, picking at my now cold food. "You'll be doing me a favor." He stared coldly at me for a long moment before clenching his jaw. He stood up abruptly, making the chair bang against the table, and glared hard at me before spinning on his heels and stomping back to his table. I watched him go, guilt squeezing my guts, but looked back down at my food and forced myself to eat some more.

* * *

He tried many more times, but I avoided it each time. If he caught me at the end of class, I would just pick up my books and leave. I didn't follow the guys outside when they went out. Cameron was harder to avoid when we were in our room, but I simply didn't look at him when he spoke, and only replied when he started to get angry, yelling back at him and turning it into a fight he would storm out of, slamming the door on his way out. Pissing a friend off can be easy, but making your best friend angry at you by acting like the complete opposite of what you usually are doesn't make them leave. It makes them _stubborn_.

It was stupid of me to drive him away, I realize this now. Him working so hard to get it out of me, insisting on knowing what's wrong, and sticking by my side even though I was the biggest jerk to him should have been hints about how much I could trust him. But I was young, I was an idiot, and instead of trusting him, I made sure he would hate me instead.

It was hard, but it eventually worked.

By the end of the month, I pissed Cameron off enough to make him ask for a different room. He was glaring at me the whole time he packed, and had a hurt look in his eyes, but I didn't say a word, stubbornly keeping my eyes on the book I was pretending to read.

He paused by the door before stepping out, staring at me like he was waiting for something. I was quickly annoyed by this, and glared up at him. "What?" I snapped.

He got that hurt look again, his jaw clenching angrily, and shook his head before looking down, opening the door. "Nothing," he hissed as he stepped out. The door slammed shut behind him and I pursed my lips, hard expression melting as the lead in my stomach sunk lower in my guts. I sighed and tossed my book on the mattress next to me, pulling my legs up and crossing my arms over my knees. My gaze went to the window, through which a warm sun was shinning, and I shut my eyes, resting my forehead against my arms. I was alone now.

It was what I wanted, wasn't it?

* * *

"Hello?"

I had picked up the phone without thinking. Lately the only person to call me was my mother, and even she wasn't a very assiduous interlocutor. "Warren?" I froze, biting my lower lip. Of all people, Candy had obviously been the easiest to avoid, and I had done this carefully enough that I hadn't had to be mean to her. I had hopes of keeping it that way, I wasn't sure if I could make her angry at me. "Oh Warren, it's so good to finally talk to you."

I licked my lips, sitting down. "Why are you calling?" There was a long pause.

"Don't act like you don't know. Warren… I haven't talked to you since before your birthday."

I ran a hand through my hair. "And? No news is good news, right?"

"Riiight," she said, sounding unconvinced. "Only I _did_ get news, just not from you. And it wasn't that good. _I_ still speak to Cameron, you know." The accent on the "I" was obvious, but it was said in a soft tone.

I couldn't resist. "What did he say?" I finally asked.

She sighed softly. "That he doesn't know what's wrong with you, that you started to act like a moron for no reason at all, that he thought you were sick, but that you wouldn't talk to him. He moved out of your _room_, Warren, what's going on? You two are the best of friends and you, like… divorced."

"We _were _the best of friends," I corrected.

She was silent a long moment. "I don't think it's his fault that you _were_ the best of friends. Or if it is, I think he'd want you to tell him what he did wrong, so he can fix it."

"He asked you to call me, didn't he?"

"No, he didn't. He even warned me that you would probably tell me to bug off if I did. You haven't done that yet, so I'm guessing it's him you're angry at." I swear I could _see_ her frown through her voice. "You do realize you're acting like an idiot, don't you?"

"Well isn't that nice of you to say."

"Hey, if you act like a jerk with your friends for a few weeks, don't expect them to be _nice_ to you. What happened, Warren?" she pleaded. "I miss you."

Of course she had to resort to feelings. She was a girl. "It's not that simple, Candy. It's personal."

"Oh, that's a _ridiculous_ answer. I despise it and I won't accept it."

I snorted softly. "Am I supposed to be scared?"

"You don't give me any sign of life for weeks, and when you do pick up the phone, you tell me your problems are personal? Of course you should be scared. I wouldn't sleep if I was you." She snorted, chuckling softly. "Be afraid. Be very, very afraid."

I let my lips turn up a bit. I missed her too. "And why is it not a good answer?"

"It's not a good answer because friends are personal too. Personal stuff and friends go in the same category; you're supposed to trust me with your secrets."

The smile, as small as it was, faded from my face. "It has nothing to do with secrets. I have to go, Candy."

"No. Warren, don't hang up…"

My fingers clenched around the receiver. "I have to go."

She sighed softly. "Alright," she said sadly, and paused. "I'll see you in a week, then."

That took me by surprise. "In a week?"

"Yes, in a week."

Long pause.

"Why?"

She let out a soft sigh. "You forgot? Your school's junior prom, Warren, next weekend."

Another pause.

I frowned. "Prom?"

"Yeah, prom," she said, starting to sound annoyed. "You know… boy asks girl, girl happy, girl with dress, boy with tux, dance, boy steps on girl's toes and stuff like that?"

I blinked. "But… you're not even in my school," I replied stupidly. "And I didn't ask you to come with me."

Pause again. She snorted softly, and replied in a sour voice, "No. Cameron did."

* * *

In a month, the feathers had grown to what I hoped was their full size. The longest ones were more than a foot long, nearly two at the tip of my wings. Said tips would touch either walls of my room when I spread them open, but I had learned to hug them even closer to my back as they grew bigger, still hiding them successfully. If someone _did_ notice, I heard no word of it. The gauze I would use to tie them wasn't strong enough anymore, though, and I spent a few nights working on a harness that I could easily attach, and that wouldn't have to be tightened every few hours like the bandages did.

I didn't want to go to the prom. It sounded like the last place to be for someone who wanted to avoid people, and a nagging voice in my mind kept teasing me about how I just didn't want to see Candy with Cameron.

I waited until everyone was dressed and out of the dorms to wander out as well. I walked to the end of the hallway, pushing my way through the emergency exit, and climbed the iron stairs up to the roof of the building. I walked to the edge of the roof, kneeling down, and looked around.

The sun was setting, the sky in beautiful shades of colors. Above my head, it was already a dark blue, and the night breeze was warm on my arms. I licked my lips nervously, and shrugged off my shirt before unclasping the harness and spreading my wings. It made me realize they couldn't spread at their full length in the room, and it felt good to finally stretch them. The wings ruffled in the soft wind, a soft rustling sound to my ears, and I wondered, seriously, if they would allow me to fly.

I was never afraid of heights. As a child I would climb everywhere, and many times did my mother find me sitting on the banister of the second floor mezzanine, on the roof of the mansion or in the trees. She would always scream at me to get down in a scared tone, but to me, it was natural.

Maybe that was why.

There was a sudden draft of stronger wind. It felt fresh and good on my face, stirring my hair, and I shut my eyes. I snapped them open a second later, though, gripping the edge of the roof when it hit my wings and suddenly lifted them; it almost sent me flying back at the same time. I quickly closed my wings, shaking as I kept a death grip on the roof, my whole body tensed up as I stared at the ground below.

Maybe I _could_ fly, but that didn't mean I knew how.

I looked down at the ground. If I fell, it was a 40 ft long fall into the hard pavement. It wouldn't necessarily kill me, but it would hurt me enough to break something, and I wasn't looking forward to that. I slowly opened my wings again, and, shutting my eyes, gave a tentative, shy flap.

It didn't do much, and I did it again, this time a bit harder. The loud sound of it surprised me enough to let go of the roof, and the wing caught in the wings again, sending me flying back on the roof. I fell on my side with a groan, the shingles scrapping my skin. "Damn," I mumbled, pushing myself up again.

So plan A was a bad one.

I felt my eyebrows draw together in a determined way, and crawled back to the edge of the roof, ignoring the pain in my side. I frowned up at the sky. How was I going to learn if no one could help me?

The hard way.

I narrowed my eyes, spreading my wings as far as I could. I leaped off the roof, and shut my eyes.

* * *

_Review for a hug! And a cookie! I promise cookies._


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's NB : Looky! A chapter! You know when it takes you so much time writing a chapter that when you're finally done writing it, you absolutely can't motivate yourself to pre-read it and correct the mistakes? This is what happened. I don't know why I had so much trouble, though, but it ended up making it shorter. I'll do better next time._

_Enjoy!_

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**Wings**

**Chapter 3**

* * *

I coughed, pushing my sore body off the ground, and turned my head to narrow my eyes at the roof.

I couldn't do it.

The second I jumped off the roof the first time, the wind pushed under my wings, and allowed me to glide a long moment. I was thrilled, convinced I was flying, but the second I braced my wings to flap them and go higher, I completely lost control. I was sent spinning down towards the ground, where I fell in through the trees and landed roughly on the ground.

I wasn't always hard-headed, but I can be stubborn when it comes to important things. Those wings had done nothing but ruin my social life so far, and it was important to me that they got at least one use. Flying was going to be their use, and so I was going to learn, even if it earned me a broken limb – or two, the way this "learning" was going.

And that's why I climbed the emergency stairs, again and again, and threw myself off the roof. I got nothing more than a longer glide – which wasn't bad, but I still couldn't control it – and in the end, I could manage a few shaky flaps that got me a few feet higher, but that only made me fall from a longer distance. My body was aching all over, I had scratches covering my arms and chest, and my palms were scrapped from landing on the dirt, but I was still walking towards the stairs, and getting ready for another attempt.

Stubbornness or stupidity, you decide.

Once I got on the roof once more, I froze, and quickly drew my wings close to my back, pressing myself flat on the roof, as I saw boys walking out of the prom in an adjacent building. I stared as they came out, rowdy and loud, their dates following with rolling eyes. They were probably heading for another party, I guessed.

It was then that I noticed them. Candy, her dark curls pulled up at the back of her head, beautiful in a soft green dress, and Cameron in a black suit by her side. I swallowed, my insides suddenly burning with jealousy. What could have we done if we were still friends? Would I have asked Candy to come?

We used to be such good friends, but whether or not she had more serious feelings for either Cameron or me was a question that was never answered.

I kept my gaze on them as they walked towards Cameron's car. He stopped Candy there, though, not opening her door right away, and placed his hand on her waist. She just grinned at him, and the cold rock in my chest only grew bigger as I saw him lean in and kiss her lips.

The air in my lungs got out with a gasp, my eyes narrowing at the scene in front of me. How many times had Cameron and I talked about Candy? How many times had he told me he had no interest for her, that she was all mine to have? I was about to have her, too. I wanted to ask her to the prom. I was going to be the one whose arm she would hold, and hopefully, I would have been the one she was kissing now. I would have been the one she would be with, if it hadn't been for those damned wings.

And Cameron.

Cameron, you traitor. You knew I loved her.

If I was wondering if he had forgiven me for being a jerk to him, I had an answer now. I turned away from them, my heart shattering in my chest. Had I caused this? I had pushed both of them away. I had managed to lose my best friend, lose all chances with Candy, _and_ push them to get together all at the same time. I scrambled to the other side of the roof, invisible in the dark night, and grabbed my long discarded shirt and harness, tucking them in my pants. My wings opened on their own this time and I jumped off, gliding away from it all.

I shut my eyes, bracing myself as I flapped my wings. This would usually be the moment when I went down and met the ground, but instead, I moved higher and picked up speed. I opened my eyes, surprised, and moved higher. My mood switched completely as I forgot everything about Cameron and Candy.

I was flying!

I laughed and pushed myself higher, shutting my eyes to feel the cool wind on my face. I could feel the strain in my back and wings, though, after all the efforts I had put into trying the whole evening, and I knew I should have stopped, gotten back to my room and rested.

Did I do that? Of course not. I was much too excited about flying to think about the effects over exertion can have on muscles that were never used before.

Lesson number one in a mutant's life : wings can have cramps.

Lesson number two : it's painful. It runs up from the middle of your back, and runs all the way up the 8ft long wing, making it tensed and instantly impossible to move.

It's painful, but probably not as much as landing hard on the ground after a 700ft long fall. I yelled when pain ran through my left wing, and felt gravity suddenly pulling me to the ground at a scary speed. Fear clenched my stomach and black dots danced in front of my eyes. I was going to pass out.

I was going to die.

Somehow my wings knew what to do. Or maybe it was the adrenalin that made my right wing draw closer to my back, making me pick speed and spin towards the forest instead of simply falling like a rock. I picked speed – which should have been a bad thing considering I was falling to my death – but at least I wasn't falling in a vertical line towards the pavement of the street, but rather plunging towards the trees. I'm only guessing, though; I had my eyes closed from the moment I felt myself pulled towards the ground. I cried out when I fell in a tree, hitting the branches. I fell down breaking about every branch I hit, but it slowed me down enough that the fall on the ground didn't kill me.

I fell from the tree and onto the ground, and landed on my side. There was a loud crack in my arm, and I screamed, instantly rolling on my other side and cradling the hurt arm to my chest. "Ahh…" I held it close, curling up in a fetal position, and waited until my breathing returned to something normal before looking down at my arm.

I had never really gotten hurt before. I could have, having spent my childhood in trees, but I never fell. Now I knew why my mother was so worried about seeing me up there. My arm was bent in a weird way, and I didn't even want to try moving my wrist. I swallowed hard and reached for the harness and shirt in my pants. I had to get help.

With a lot of winces and groans, I managed to slip the harness on and shrug my shirt over my shoulders. I abandoned the idea of buttoning the shirt one handed, and made my way out of the small forest and onto the side of the street. I licked my lips and raised my hand to hail a cab, and only paused one second before getting in when it stopped, my arm cradled against my chest.

* * *

Some things in life are priceless, and are worth carrying a camera around. The look on Dr. Stuart's face when I took my shirt off was one of those things.

He completely forgot about my arm, his eyes wide as he walked around me to my back. I felt him reach up and undo the harness, and my wings unfolded slightly when the pressure on them was released, making him take a hasty step back to give them a dumbfound stare. I shut my eyes, my shoulders slumping, but he didn't say anything, simply stepping closer. The wings flinched when he laid a hand on them, touching the feathers, and I turned my head to look at him. He looked up then, blue eyes piercing as he stared at me. "When did this happen, Warren?" he asked in a breathless voice. I could swear I could hear fear in it.

I swallowed hard, frowning at him. "About a month ago."

"Did they just… come out?"

"You could say that," I said in a dry tone. "I'm not here about them, though."

"Right." He walked around and continued wrapping up my arm. "It's broken, but it's clean. A cast for three weeks, at least, and I suggest…" his voice trailed off slightly, and he frowned, glancing at me from under his eyebrows, "that you do not do whatever you did to hurt it in the first place."

I narrowed my eyes at him, snorting softly. "Sure."

He did the same, looking back at the wings, and was silent a long moment, grey eyebrows drawing together in a deep frown. "Has anyone seen them, Warren?"

"No." I shook my head. "No one else but you."

He walked around again, and I felt his hands on my back, touching the base of the wings, palpating and pressing on the bones. I flinched, but waited; he obviously didn't like what he was seeing. "It's possible."

"What's possible?" I asked, staring at the wall in front of me.

"To have them amputated."

I didn't move a feather. A cold feeling settled in my stomach and it made me wonder why I thought it was such an impossible, terrible idea. I turned around to stare at him, and shook my head. "Why?"

He shook his head. "Warren, no one can know about this, but it's not exactly easy to hide. I could take them off without leaving so much but two scars, and it would never be known. Your mother's health isn't very good, I doubt you want her to learn her beloved only son is a mutant. Not to mention what your father's investors will think…"

I licked my lips, thinking about it for a second. "I don't want to."

"How will you hide them?"

"The same way I have until now," I breathed. "I'm not having them amputated."

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to tell me they've made your life easier since they appeared, Warren?"

Appeared? That was an understatement. My eyes narrowed back at him, and something stirred in my stomach. "No. They haven't."

"Then why would you keep them?"

Good question.

"Think about it, Warren."

* * *

I spent the rest of the school year that way, hidden in my room like a hermit with Dr. Stuart's offer haunting my mind. May and June were terribly hot, but I still dressed in my heavy sweater to go to class, the only clothes big enough to hide the – rather large – bump in my back.

If only the end of the year would come… I wasn't sure what I would do back home, but I wouldn't have to give excuses for hiding in my room. My father was too busy to even notice I was home from school, and my mother wouldn't bother me. If they found out, in any case, it wouldn't be as disastrous as if someone saw them here; my parents would keep it secret.

Little did I know lady Fate had other projects for me.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a yell in the hallway right outside of my room. I opened my eyes, raising my head from the pillow. My eyes were burning, though, and filled with tears instantly as the smell of smoke drifted up to my nose.

Fire.

Of all the things I hated in life, it had to be that.

I pushed myself off the bed and looked around my smoky room, stomach clenching in fear. I could remember the last thing that had happened, when I was five. The family house burned down, and I would have died in my bedroom if my father hadn't pulled me out of it. This time my father wasn't here, though.

There was a lot of commotion outside of my door as everyone hurried out of the dorms, but I couldn't exactly step out and join them. I wasn't wearing my harness to sleep, and I didn't have time to find it. I pushed myself down on all fours on the floor, my heart thumping as I crawled to the window. It opened easily, and I let out a gasp of relief as fresh air washed over my face.

I easily flew out of it and made it to the next building, landing on the roof and looking back at the dorm. I was in nothing but pajama pants, barefoot on the shingles, large wings protruding out of my back, and I had nothing to hide them. The harness and my clothes were inside…

Did I have time to go back and get them? Now that I was out of danger, my conscience was speaking to me again; I _couldn't_ be seen by anyone under any circumstance. I crouched, bracing myself to jump and fly back to my open window, when I heard a cry from another window. I stared at it, noticing the flames inside of the room. My heart clenched in fear; I was dead afraid of fire, and having feathers wasn't going to make that fear go away. I heard another scream for help, though, and it was enough for me to jump and fly towards it.

I climbed inside the room, coughing, and quickly ducked to the ground to try to avoid the smoke. "Is there anybody here!" I yelled out.

"Here!" was the croaked reply. I crawled to it, and found the boy curled up by his bed. "There's fire outside the door, I can't get out…" he let out, looking up at me, and froze.

I did as well, staring back at Cameron for what seemed like a long moment, but the feeling of turning into a roasted chicken made me reach out and grab his arm. "Come on." He didn't argue, and I climbed on the window sill, looking back down at him to find him staring at me with wide eyes. I opened my eyes to speak, but thought against it, grabbing him around the waist and jumping out the window.

He gasped and tensed, but I quickly carried him a bit farther, letting his feet touch ground before landing next to him. His eyes were just as wide and round as quarters now, settled on my wings, and he let out a soft breath. "Warren?" he breathed, as if I was going to shake my head and claim to be the Archangel Gabriel.

"Are you alright?" I only replied, staring at him.

"Oh my God," was his reply, and he stepped closer. "You… you have wings!"

"Oh really," I let out dryly. "You always were the observant one."

"That…" He licked his lips. "That's why you've been acting like a moron for the last weeks?"

I looked back when I heard voices before looking back at him. "No one can know about this, Cameron. Really."

He stared at me a few more moments before slowly nodding. "Don't worry," he let out as I backed up, getting ready to fly away before people saw me. "I won't tell anyone."

I nodded and took off, my heart feeling a bit lighter. Apparently the wings _did_ have a use… and I had my answer to Dr. Stuart's offer.

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_Stay tuned! And review, thank you so much to those who did!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Nota Bene : Thanks so much to the people who reviewed. I hope I didn't forget to reply to anyone (anyone who gave signed reviews; I can't reply to the anonymous ones). I ran out of cookies, though, but here's a chapter for everyone, even the silent readers (I know you're there)._

_(open parenthesis—_

_To those who haven't seen X-Men : The Last Stand, I'll ask what you're doing here, sitting in front of your screen. I will also tell you to stay seated until the end of the credits when you do see it, too, there's a little scene at the end that might ease the pain a bit. And if I'm allowed to have a little rant, the Warren in the movie doesn't have half the part he should have had (he's referred to as "Angel" in the credits, but isn't even called that name in the movie. Go figure.). The wings are cool, but the guy… Anyway, I think he's an important character in the X-Men, but he was a victim of his lack of popularity, and he was far from the Warren in my mind and heart. It sucks for him, and I was left unsatisfied on that part. A good movie, still, and I still chuckle when I think of the Juggernaut yelling at Kitty Pryde. _

—_end parenthesis)_

_Enjoy!_

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**Wings**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

The summer had started off well, and I was a fool enough to think it would remain the same until I went back to school in autumn. Of course that was without considering the fact that my father decided it would be a good idea for us to go, all together, to our beach house on the coast, to spend the "family time" we had never, ever spent before. As much as I dreamed of spending more than random weekends there, now was not the time, and I spent most of the nights before the day we left laying on my stomach and finding excuses not to join them on the beach in nothing but swimming trunks.

As beautiful as our house in New York was, I preferred the beach house to it by far, even if it was much smaller—by my own standards, you might say, but it was still much smaller than Worthington manor. Seated in the sand a few hundred feet from the water, it stood solidly against the sea winds. It was made of wood all over, being over a hundred years old, and I remember how there was sand sticking to my palms if I laid them against the wooden planks of the outside walls. They were painted a soft yellow—I remember spending a few days watching the painters, wet from swimming in the sea and licking popsicles in their faces as they sweated on their brushes—but it was still much better than the ugly pale, scaling green they had been when my mother found and bought the house after falling it love with its "charm". A bit of Worthington financial magic, and it was habitable again, with its the walls painted, woodworks varnished and floor boards sanded, and a nice smell of old house drifting permanently despite the fresh paint.

I spent all of my summers there with Sandra, my nanny. My mother would join us every weekend, settling down to slowly cook in the sun in her chair on the deck, and my father would come with her when he had the time. How (and why) in the _world_ had he found the time to spend a whole month there, on the one single summer I didn't want to go there, was something I would never understand. I couldn't ask not to go without raising suspicions—I would beg for it as a kid—and so I packed up my suitcase and followed my parents, wings harnessed and hugged tight against my back under the t-shirt and jacket I insisted on wearing.

* * *

There wasn't many things Warren Kenneth Worthington II, my father, couldn't do. There was, though, many he _wouldn't_ do, often going by the "do as I say, not as I do" saying. It included respecting differences—which explained my insistence on keeping the wings secret from him—and being polite in conversations with people he considered inferior to him. He didn't pass the salt at dinner, and had the annoying habit of not looking up from the morning newspaper when you spoke to him, replying with a dreaded "mmhmm" to everything one would say to him. It made that even more annoying, I think, that he was able to remember everything you said.

I made the mistake of forgetting he also didn't knock before he came in a room, including mine. Or he knocked _as_ he opened the door; it was more a warning that he was coming in, than a real request for permission to enter.

It was probably on the second or the third day at the beach house. It was raining, and I was thankful for not having to use my excuses yet, knowing very well I would get questions if I didn't wear trunks permanently and jump in the waves on the first occasion. My wings were itching to stretch and fly, but I couldn't risk it. Not only did I not think my parents would stand it if they saw them, but I also couldn't explain it if they looked for me while I was gone.

I had my pants on and was frowning at the clasp of the harness. I had to tie it tighter, not being able to hide my wings under thicker clothes. I was willing to do a lot to hide them, but we _were_ on the beach, and I wasn't going to wear woolen sweaters in a 95° sun.

I heard the knock, and I barely had time to realize it was my father's knick before my mind told me he wasn't going to wait for me to open it. I spun on my heels as it opened, eyes widening, and my arm reached out in reflex, as if I could close the door from the other end of the room. "Wai—"

He still stepped in, though, and froze. It was probably more due to my cry, since I was standing to face him, wings safely tucked in my back. "What's wrong?" he said with a frown, as I felt all the blood leaving my face. He looked down at the tied harness, though, and his frown deepened. "What in heaven's name are you wearing, son?"

My insides clenched in panic, but I had the sense to not look worried, giving a half shrug and hoping nonchalance would work. "Nothing at all, dad," I replied, reminding myself to slap myself for such a stupid reply when I was alone. That harness could not pass for anything else than what it was, after all; my wings hugged closer to my back at the thought, not a single feather showing.

A pale eyebrow slowly arched over a stern look. "So you're wearing this ridiculous contraption for no reason at all," he reasoned, the other eyebrow slowly joining the other high on his forehead.

I hated it when he made me realize I was being stupid.

I licked my lips, struggling for an answer. He hadn't moved from the doorframe, thank God, and the wings felt as if they were growing smaller in my back, hugging so close to it that it felt like they wanted to go back in. "Homework," I finally choked out. "Ah… A science project, we… have to do it during the summer, I thought now was a good time."

The eyebrows went a bit higher on his forehead; I didn't think such a thing was possible. But there was a flash of approval in his eyes, and I relaxed slightly. "What is it?" he asked in a more cheerful tone. To my horror, he stepped in, obviously with the intention of giving the "contraption" a closer look.

I took a hasty step back, the back of my knees hitting the bed. "Don't!" He stopped, giving me a surprised look, and I shook my head. "I… it's not done. It's special, you know? I… It…" I struggled, unable to give the harness a plausible use—aside from hiding mutant wings. His eyebrows shot back down, way past their regular shape to settle together in a frown, the stern look returning in his eyes. "I… huh…"

He cleared his throat, frown deepening. He opened his mouth to reply, and shook his head. Apparently he blamed it on teenage weirdness because he turned around to leave. "If you say so," he simply let out, giving me a look, and stepped out of the room. The door closed behind him, and I let out a relieved, but nervous sigh, my knees giving up on me as I sunk down to sit hard on the floor.

I stared at the door before shutting my eyes, reaching up to smooth back my hair. "Shit," I whispered, and looked down to untie the harness. There was no way I was going anywhere today; I simply wished I could hide in my room forever now. I got to my feet again and dropped the leather straps on the floor, staring sadly down at them as my wings took their normal stance again. I had learned to appreciate them and had grown fond of being able to fly, but they were making my life ridiculously more complicated.

Deep in my thoughts, I didn't hear the footsteps in the hallway, but I heard the polite knock again as the door open. My head snapped up to the doorframe, and Dad came in, again. "Warren, I forgot t—" He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening until they reached the size of small plums. I stood there, my lips parting in surprise at the same time as his, and it felt as if time was frozen as we stared at each other.

The wings unconsciously drew close to my back, but without the harness they were huge. Fully grown now, they were now over 7 feet long from root to tip of the longest feather, as far as I could manage to measure them myself. I knew that even folded the way they were (which was still pretty tight), they still went up to slightly over my head before bending and draping over my back and around me like a white, feathered cape. No, without the harness, there was no way to hide them. Besides, it was much, much too late.

Time unfroze when I saw his Adam's apple slowly move up and down in his throat as he swallowed painfully. His gaze went from me to the discarded harness on the floor, and back to the wings. He spoke; I hadn't thought he would. "_That's _your science project?" he let out in a whisper that made my heart squeeze painfully. Hell, he knew very well it wasn't.

I licked my lips. "Dad…" I said softly, as I reached out and took a step forward.

"No," he said in a breath, denial clear as day in his now cold voice as he hastily took a step back. I stopped, my heart breaking in a thousand pieces as disgust painted all over his face. "No." I opened my mouth to speak but he shook his head, holding out a hand and stepping out of the room. "No, Warren."

I flinched when the door slammed behind him, taking a step back to sit on my bed and letting my head drop down in my hands. I felt the pieces of my heart sink low in my chest, and my eyes watered as the wings draped around me like a cocoon.

* * *

My father left the same day, taking my mother with him. He hadn't told her by the time she got in the car, I could tell by her questioning tone before the doors of the car slammed and the sound of the engine died down the road. I hoped he didn't tell her.

They left Sandra with me, though, and apparently he told _her_. I learned it when she stopped on the other side of my closed door, at the end of the day. "Young sir?" she asked gently. I had spent the day inside, and she knew me well enough. "I've brought you something to eat."

"Thank you," I said in a hoarse voice from my perch on the window sill. "But I'm not hungry."

There was a short silence. "Do you need anything?"

"No."

"Can I come i—"

"No, Sandra. Thank you."

She sighed softly. "Young Warren… Your father…" she plainly hesitated to tell me, and I frowned, turning my head to look at the closed door. "Your father told me about your… condition."

I narrowed my eyes. "And?" I asked sharply.

"I would very much like to see," she said softly through the door. "It doesn't bother me in the least, and I would like to help, young sir…"

I hunched my shoulders, turning back to look at the sea. "Fine, then," I breathed. Things could hardly get worse, anyway.

The door opened, and I heard her let out a soft breath. I hadn't reattached the harness, which still lay on the floor. I was sitting on the large window sill, legs drawn up to my chest as I turned towards the sea, only wanting to fly away. My wings were half open in my back, though, feathers stretched. It was probably quite a sight, and the only thing she saw, before she looked past them and saw me. "Oh… oh my," I heard her say softly, and let my head hang until my forehead hit my knees.

I looked up when I felt her smooth back my hair. She had gotten older; I hadn't noticed, being in school all the time. She had already been close to 40 when my parents hired her to take care of me, when I was born; she was now only going on 55, but the sad look on her face made her look older than that. She sighed. "Oh, child," she whispered sadly, tucking back my hair behind my ear. "I already thought you were growing up too fast, but now it has taken a whole different meaning."

I frowned and looked down at the beach again. "It's not like there's anything I can do about it. I don't want to get rid of them."

"No. No, of course not." She smiled, eyes softening behind her glasses as she looked at the wings. "Warren, they're beautiful." I looked at her, surprised, and she tucked back a grey curl behind her ear before reaching up and gently stroking the feathers. "Absolutely beautiful."

I stared at her before watching her hand warily as she pat the wings. "I never saw them as beautiful. Useful, maybe, and certainly a bit of a hassle right now, but…"

"Oh they are." She smiled sadly, dropping her hand. "It's such a shame that they might be considered as something bad." She smiled at me then. "Please come downstairs, young Warren, and have something to eat. I'm supposed to take care of you, what kind of nanny would I be if I let you starve? I cooked your favorite dinner, since your parents are gone again."

I managed a small smile. "I'm old enough, I don't need someone to take care of me."

She laughed then, reaching out and patting me on the head as if I was 6 years old. "Men always need that, young sir, no matter their age. Now try to put on a shirt if you can, it's more polite, and come down to eat before you get all skinny."

* * *

Two days later, I was awoken in the dead of the night by the screeching of tires. I frowned and raised my face from the pillow before rising from the bed. I dragged myself to my window, craning my neck to try and see the front of the house, and let out a soft breath when I recognized my father's convertible. He wasn't in it, though, and I soon heard loud footsteps in the stairs. I spun on my heels to see the door open, and my father appeared in the doorway. "Dad?" I let out, raising my eyebrows at him. Was I still dreaming? "What…"

"No time," he breathed, and walked to me. He paused, glancing at the wings, and shook his head as he grabbed a pair of jeans from where I had throw them the evening before when I went to bed. He thrust them in my hands, his eyes wide as he looked at my face. "Put them on, quickly," he ordered, and I obeyed, slipping them on over my boxers.

"What's going on?" I asked in a worried tone when I saw him lean over in the window, looking towards the road.

He turned back to look at me, and grabbed my arm to pull me out of the room and into the hallway. "I'll explain on the way," he said coldly, and I nearly tumbled down the stairs following him. He dragged me outside to the car and I got in the passenger seat. He sat behind the wheel and reached to turn on the engine when there suddenly was a loud crack from the trees behind. We both snapped our head around to look, and the trees parted and fell to the ground to reveal… a giant robot?

I frowned and, despite the apparent seriousness of the situation, reached up a hand to furiously rub my eyes. Maybe I _was_ still dreaming.

"Oh my God," Dad said, reminding me that this was very real indeed. An 80ft tall robot was standing like a purple Grendizer in the middle of the now fallen trees. Its red glowing eyes scanned the area until they stopped on me, and I cowered slightly on the seat as my father fumbled madly with the keys to start the engine, my wings automatically drawing close to me. I was going to have to work on that bad reflex if I wanted to survive.

"WARREN KENNETH WORTHINGTON THE THIRD," the robot boomed in a loud, less than pleasant metallic voice. The engine roared and Dad stepped hard on the gas, the small convertible leaping forward on the road with a screech of tires, rising a thick could of dust behind us. I could still hear the robot, though, and couldn't look away from it as it took a gigantic step forward to follow us, making the ground tremble under its foot. "X-GENE PRESENCE : CONFIRMED. MUTANT #48472, FILE 294. IDENTIFICATION : COMPLETE."

That was me alright. What a nightmare.

"TARGET : LOCKED." I frowned. What? "EXTERMINATION PROCESS : ENGAGED."

My eyes widened and my blood ran cold. "What?" My father cursed softly under his breath, and I looked at him in surprise. "What the hell is that thing?" I yelled over the wind as he drove like a madman. I jerked in my seat when the thing shot at us, but it miraculously missed, and I stared at the crater it had left in the pavement, feeling not just a little thunderstruck. "What…"

"A sentinel," he replied, accelerating. "They've started patrolling a few days ago, when the law for mutant registration was adopted." I turned to look at him, opening my mouth to ask, but he shook his head before I could say a word. "The program was created to control the mutant population, but I didn't think it would control it by _eliminating_ them."

I swallowed hard. "What do you mean, you didn't think? You…"

He pursed his lips. "I financed it. Well, part of it. But…" He glanced at me, and back at the road as my eyes roamed towards the robot, which was thankfully growing smaller as we drove father from it. "Like I said, Warren, I had no idea it was going to kill them, let alone…"

I looked back at him, frowning slightly. "Let alone that I was one myself."

He sighed, and nodded. "You should have told me sooner, son."

The sentinel shot once more, missing again, and I swallowed hard as I looked at it. "But… How does it know I'm here?" I asked. My blood ran cold again and I stared at my father. "You…"

His eyebrows shot up and he glared at me quickly before looking back at the road. "What? I what?"

I licked my lips. "How does it know about me? How did it know I was here?"

"I don't know," he breathed. He said no more and I sunk in my seat. I glanced back at the road, but the robot was nowhere to be seen. Dad didn't stop, though, nervously glancing back now and then as he drove. It was a long time before he sighed again, and stopped the car on the side of the road. He let the motor running, and turned in his seat to look at me. "Apparently, you're on the mutant registration list. I have _no_ idea how your name got on that list, Warren. I had no idea you were one when I accepted to finance part of it, and I would never do such a thing to you."

I frowned. "Even if they didn't kill them? You still wouldn't… sign me in?"

His eyes saddened. "Of course not, Warren."

"So it's okay for the other mutants, you even gave them money so they could… "control" the population, but not for me?"

He shook his head. "Warren, no… Had I known you were a mutant from the start, I never would have contributed to the program, ever. I know doing so was wrong, but I had no idea… To me, and to many others, they were something to be scared of." He reached out to hold my face with both hands, making me look at him. "I see things much clearer when they're in my face, Warren. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I stared at him and nodded, hanging my head. "What are you going to do?" I asked. "They're after me, now."

"I don't know," he answered softly. He leaned back in his seat, shutting his eyes and laying a hand against his damp forehead. "First, we have to find a place to hide you. Then… I know a lot of people at the government, I'm sure I can find someone who will erase your name against a certain sum of money."

I nodded slowly. My lips felt dry and I gave them a nervous lick before glancing at the woods around us, expecting a gigantic purple robot to emerge from the trees at any moment. I sighed, glancing back at the road, and watched the cars zoom by for a few seconds before glancing back at my father. "How did it even get there in the first place?" I finally asked. "Do they just… find us and track us down?" It felt weird to speak of it as "us". Weird but also, in a way, terribly reassuring.

He shook his head. "No, they can't. Not yet at least, thank God. No, the mutants on the registration list were… denounced, in a way. Usually family members who probably thought it was for the best." He glanced up at me. "But it wasn't me, Warren. Who else knows about it?"

"Sandra," I said, shaking my head. "But it can't be her." He nodded, agreeing. "There's… my friend in school, Cameron." I frowned, looking up at him. "And doctor Stuart. He offered to amputate them, and told me not to tell anyone."

He shook his head again. "No, not him. He wouldn't have done anything without telling me about it first. Who is—"

He didn't finish, as a powerful blast was shot at the hood of the car. It jerked, and we were thrown out of it and into the ditch. I coughed strands of grass, hearing my father doing pretty much the same thing next to me, but froze when I recognized the loud voice that came from above. "WARREN KENNETH WORTHINGTON THE THIRD," it said again, and I looked up to find the sentinel standing in the middle of the road. How had it gotten there? "TARGET : LOCKED…" I didn't care to listen to the rest, and I grabbed my father's arm and scrambled out of the ditch. I had carried Cameron, but he wasn't as tall and big as my father. I already had trouble taking off from the ground; I would always take off by gliding from a higher point. Could I take off the ground carrying my father?

I didn't try, and we quickly ran to the trees to hide. We stopped when we felt we were far enough for the sentinel to have to look for us, at least, and caught our breath. "Can you fly with those wings, Warren?" he asked me, a little red in the face. Maybe running in the woods wasn't such a good hobby for a 45yr old businessman. I nodded and he grabbed my arms. "Then go. Now."

"But you…"

"It's not me it's after, son. It doesn't even give a damn about me. It's not my name it's yelling about." The corners of his lips twitched up sadly. "Not all of it, at least."

"But I could carry you," I insisted.

"I doubt you can fly as fast with me. Go, Warren. It's after mutants, not normal humans. Go before it finds you. And when you can, call home and we'll find you somewhere safe until all of this is settled. I love you, now go."

"But…"

He sighed angrily. "Warren Worthington, but you're as stubborn as your mother!" He pointed an imperious finger towards the black sky showing through the branches, and glared at me. "Go, _now_!"

Imperious fingers and glares from my father always worked with me as a child, and they still did at 16 years old. I went. I turned and ran through the branches, and finally found a tree I could climb. I went up, like I always did as a child, and threw myself off the top when I reached it.

I gained altitude very fast, and when I felt out of danger, I started thinking about where I could go. That was a mistake. A sentinel appeared in front of me, surprising me. Apparently it could fly, rockets coming out of its feet. I would have laughed at the comical sight it gave, maybe, if it hadn't been trying to kill me. It outstretched a metallic arm, and it let out a "click" sound, sounding dreadfully a lot like a gun being armed. "TARGET : LOCKED," it let out, rather annoyingly now, but I was too busy quickly falling to the ground to notice.

When I had first gotten my wings, I had fun looking in books about birds to try and find which bird's wings they looked most like. I liked the idea of having eagle wings, or falcon wings or something of the sort. No need to say I was rather disappointed to find they were actually closer, in color, shape, and span (proportionally to me, that is), to the American white pelican's wings. In any case, they were a far cry from the hummingbird's wings, and it was impossible to me to hover in mid-air—wouldn't that be a funny sight—, let alone fly backwards. When the sentinel emerged in front of me, I was able to stop before I ran into it, yes. But being cornered by the gigantic robot, I promptly fell down to my demise.

Gigantic fingers caught me before I fell in the trees, and brought me up to eye level. I struggled, but cried out in pain when they squeezed me like a boa constrictor. I could feel my wings being pressed painfully against my back, my ribs cracking. I couldn't say how long it lasted, but I fell like a stringless puppet when it finally let go.

I never touched the ground; I lost consciousness before it happened. My only thought as I fell, right before my vision went black, was about my father. How he had, for what was probably the first and only time of my very short life, told me he loved me… and how I hadn't said it back.

* * *

_Review… please? Sorry if you find mistakes; it had taken me so much time to write it that I only re-read it once._


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Nota Bene : No lethal reviews yet? I'm almost disappointed; maybe I'm going too easy on Warren. It made me laugh that some of the reviews I got were almost mostly about my critic on the X3 movie than the actual chapter, but hey, it means at least you read the author's note. Hehe. And thank you for showing interest; it's always nice to know someone reads what you spend hours working on. _

_And now, on with the X-Men. It's about time, non? Are you even reading this?_

_Enjoy!_

_

* * *

_

**Wings**

**Chapter 5**

**

* * *

**

I was exhausted, for some weird reason. The floor was cold and my heart felt like it was throbbing painfully between my temples, making it feel like my skull was too small for my brain. I groaned in reaction to the feeling, and was rewarded by a cool hand touching my arm. "Hey, you're awake?" a stranger's voice asked over the annoying beeps I could hear. I didn't want to be awake, but apparently I was. With noticeable effort, I cracked open one of my eyes to glance at whoever that was. "You okay?" he asked, and the hand withdrew from my arm. He was blurry around the edges, but the voice didn't sound old at all, and he couldn't be much older than me, if older he even was.

I replied with a grumble that could have meant "yes" or "no", depending on the translator. I shut the eye, but rolled on my side to reach up and rub my eyes hard. There was a ruffle to my side as the boy moved away a bit, and I opened my eyes to look at him.

He _was_ younger than me. He looked no more than fourteen or fifteen, with wide brown eyes under floppy dark hair. There was a metallic collar around his neck, with a small red light blinking in sync with the beeps I could hear. It didn't look like the latest fashion trend, and I frowned at it. He gave me a wry smile, reaching up to gingerly touch it. "Not very comfortable, is it?" he asked, making me reach up to my own neck. Sure enough, I felt it, and groaned softly as I pushed myself up on my knees. We were in a cell, apparently. The walls were made of stone, but there were bars on one side, which were glowing an ominous blue. I didn't want to know how it would feel to touch them.

I fingered the smooth surface of the collar, looking back at him. "What is that thing?" I asked in a croak that made me think I had been unconscious for quite a while.

"It keeps us from using our powers," he said, raising his hand and staring at it. His gaze went to my back, then, and his lips turned up slightly. "But I'm not sure what good it'll be on you."

There was a metallic clicking sound in my back and I glanced at my wings. They were cuffed in a way that kept them folded in my back, feathers ruffling and itching to stretch. I sighed and looked back at the boy. "Maybe they thought I could do something else as well," I said, reaching up and wrapping my fingers around the collar. "Didn't want to take a chance."

I frowned and managed to slip my fingers under the collar to pull, but the boy's eyes widened dramatically, and he lunged forward to pull my arm away. "Don't! It'll explode!"

I stared at him, blinking. "It'll what?"

"It will explode," said another voice. We both turned our head towards the bars. It was dark beneath them, but I squinted to see another cell on the other side of the narrow, dark hallway. A man stepped closer to the bars of his own cell and gave us a wry smile. "I'm afraid the young boy is right. I would advise you leave your collar where it is."

I swallowed and dropped my hand from my neck. "Where are we?" I asked, looking back at my cellmate.

He paused, staring at me, and shrugged. "I don't remember. I woke up here a few hours ago, and it wasn't where I remembered falling asleep in the first place."

"Brought here by sentinels, I would think," the man continued in a casual voice. "I can hear voices on the other side of the wall on your left; I would guess we are not the only ones to have been… picked up."

"But why are we here?" my cellmate asked him.

"Oh that, young men…" He shook his head. "I could not answer. I think it is safe to affirm we are indeed in trouble, but I do not know what kind." He gave us a warm, fatherly smile, and turned to me. "My name is Henry McCoy, my feathered friend, but they usually call me Hank."

"I'm Bobby Drake," said my cellmate, and smirked when I looked at him.

I smiled back, feeling quite confused, but threw in my own name as well. "I'm Warren," I said, not bothering with my last name. I nodded towards Bobby's beeping collar. "What are your powers?"

He grinned, dark eyes narrowing. "I can make ice." He held out his hand, looking at it, but nothing happened and he shrugged as his grin faded slightly. "I don't know how I can do it. My parents weren't really happy about it, either." He glanced at Hank. "You?"

"Oh, mine is merely physical," he said in a modest tone. "A bit of strength too, I must say, but it comes from my physical mutation." He arched an eyebrow at me. "Quite a bit like you, Warren."

I looked him over. I couldn't see much in the dark, but he looked very much normal to me, with dark hair and pale eyes. He was tall, but not much more than me, and didn't look extraordinary to me. "What physical mutation?" Bobby asked. Apparently he had reached the same conclusions as I had. "I mean… Warren's mutation is pretty obvious, but you…"

"Oh, well I've been here for a little longer than you two children have." He grinned, looking like a cat in front of a bowl of milk. "The collars appear to neutralize the X-gene, making it impossible to us to use our powers."

"But I don't have powers," I stated. "I have wings, yeah, but flying is something I learned to do with them, like learning to walk." Although it was a bit more painful to me than to a baby falling on his diapered bum, I added mentally.

"Yes, but that transformation was created by the X-gene in your DNA. Some mutants will not go through any physical changes, like you, young Robert, but will have special, usual powers. Others will grow wings and hollow bones, or blue body hair and muscles. Apparently this version of Genoshan collars gets rid of those mutant transformations as well."

"Blue body hair and muscles?" an obviously amused Bobby asked with a chuckle, staring at Hank.

"Hollow bones?" I asked a bit more curiously, my attention drawn to what he had said in a more selfish way.

"I am only guessing, Warren," he said, looking me over as I stepped closer to the bars. "A man of your height and shape would need much, much larger wings than the ones you have in order to be able to fly. Birds have hollow bones that make their body lighter; I think it makes sense to think that you weight less than the average man."

I smiled, looking down at my hand, and chuckled. "Cool."

"Hmm, yes. You might gain quite a bit of weight when they fill up again, if you keep the collar for a too long time."

There was an awkward silence that I voluntarily stretched, my teeth setting hard and deep in my lower lip. "You mean… It just takes the mutation away?" I let out after a while, glancing back at him.

He gave me a small smile, bending to pick up something. He got back to his feet and dropped what he was holding, and soft looking, short blue hairs slowly drifted in a feathery way to the floor. "I expect it will grow back, and I will get bigger again when they take the collar off, much like it was when I first changed."

I was staring down at the hairs in horror when Bobby spoke. "Is he just going to molt?" he asked.

I turned and glared at him. "Thanks a lot."

He shrugged, flopping down to sit on the floor. "I was just asking. I mean, just losing the feathers isn't too bad, they can grow back, right? But what about the wings? They can't just… fall off, can they?" We all stayed silent for a long moment, staring at him, and I felt all of the feathers stand up, ruffling as the wings drew closer to my back. Bobby glanced at me, and then at Hank. "I mean… do you expect those will grow back too, once they take the collar off?"

I shuddered violently. "No. No, no way." I slid down to sit hard on the floor. "Hopefully it won't reach that point. Once was already too much."

* * *

"You should have seen her face," Bobby said, crossing his hands behind his head and grinning up at the ceiling. "There was some of the stuff all over the place, and with her hair standing on her head, and she was trying to keep on a straight face after eating the lemon…" He burst out laughing at his own memory, and I smirked from behind my crossed arms. I was on my stomach, watching him talk. I guess it could be considered as a conversation, since I did let out an occasional grunt of approval. I was trying to forget my wings, or the fact that I might lose them—only to have them grow again. The last time I had touched them, I had drawn back a handful of feathers, and I wasn't keen on doing it again. 

He was actually fifteen, I learned, and was from Long Island. He also liked to hear himself speaking a lot, which was fine with me since I didn't feel like talking about myself much. Mr. McCoy seemed to be asleep on the other side of the hallway, a gentle snore and an occasional grunt coming to us when he would turn around in his sleep. I had no idea how he knew it was night time; we had no windows, and my watch was broken. It must have been close to it, though, because I was slowly dozing off, and Bobby's voice sounded more tired as time went, the gentle beeping of the collars singing hypnotically in sync with the flashing red lights on them. I opened my eyes again, though, when Bobby's tone changed. "You got a girl, Warren?" he asked. I glanced at him, but he was looking at the ceiling. His smile had vanished, replaced by a small frown.

I shook my head no. "I tried to stay away from everything, including that."

"But you still ended up here, and you might die." He turned his head to look at me then. "Is there one you could have had? Should have?"

I thought of Candy for a second, seeing her kiss Cameron again, and shrugged, turning my head back and resting my chin on my crossed arms. "What's the use of thinking about that?"

"Just 'cause I'm wondering," he said, rolling back on his stomach. He pushed himself up on his elbows, staring down at his hands. "I had one, for a few dates at least." His tone made me glance at him. He didn't seem to have the kind of face to look serious often, but now it did, and he had my attention. "Only my parents knew about me being a mutant. I got my powers in the middle of dinner one night, so I couldn't very much hide it from them, since I froze the soup in two seconds, and ruined the wine." I smiled at the image, but he simply shook his head. "They told me not to tell anyone, including her. Her name's Judy. Judy Harmon."

"You've been together for a long time?"

"No." He snorted, shaking his head. "Wanted her for a year, actually, but it ruined everything when I got my powers." He smiled softly. "I love it, but I don't have much left now, do I?"

"What happened?"

He sighed. "A guy from our school attacked us, and I used my powers against him. First thing I knew, the whole town wanted to lynch me on the public place because stupid Rocky Beasely caught a cold." He snorted softly, and I smiled.

"What did you do to him?"

He did smile then, narrowing his eyes at his hands. "Froze'im. Put him in a block of ice from toe to shoulder, and ran away with Judy before he thawed. He yelled like a banshee after us, and went to the police when he was done melting." He sighed. "I wouldn't mind the arrest much, see, if Judy hadn't started to scream and hit me behind the head once she recovered. And—_Stay_ _still_," he ended in a very different voice. My eyebrows rose, and he glanced at me as I stared at him in confusion. "What?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"What did you say?" he asked as well. His lips turned up in a smirk, but his eyes held a confused look as well. I opened my mouth to say something, but we were suddenly plunged in sudden darkness. The ventilation system was shut off, making the silence heavy. The blue glow of the bars faded with a crackle, and the only light we had was the flashing red ones on the collars. Those too, though, soon stopped, and although I couldn't see Bobby anymore, I heard the sound of ice cracking. "Oh, cool," he breathed. "The collars are off."

I reached up to the collar as it clicked and fell off, dropping in my hand. I smiled, and moved closer to the bars. _I said, stay still_, I was ordered again, and froze, realizing the voice hadn't come from Bobby, but from inside my head. "What…"

"Who's that?" Bobby breathed. "Who said that?"

"I don't know," came Hank's voice from the other side of the bars. "But I advise we listen to it; it sounded serious about it."

It was, and I took a step back. The flash of a red beam blinded us a second later, and the bars exploded.

* * *

Scott Summers was taller than me. That tiny bit of information shouldn't have bothered me, but while I was used to be taller than most of my classmates (and I was 16, I had a right to believe I wasn't done growing up), standing next to a silent, stern, frowning guy that was at least three inches taller than me was quite disturbing. He led us three on a plane, and eventually explained why he had gotten us out in the first place. 

I sat at the front of the plane with him, while Hank and Bobby sat behind us. I gave the controls of the plane an interested look, and my lips turned up in a smirk as I silently thanked my wings for not having to learn how to fly this gigantic monster. "Where are you taking us?" I asked Scott, turning to glance at him.

He gave me a glance and turned to the controls. Soon the engines roared, and the plane moved up and hovered for a few moments, before shooting up in the sky. I gripped the armrests, and from the corner of my eye, saw Hank do the same thing behind Scott. "To Charles Xavier's school," he said. We all waited for more, but he stayed silent.

"And?" I asked. "Where is that?"

"Salem Center, in Manchester." He glanced at me again. "You'll be safe there, protected. It is a hiding place for us, hidden under the means of a private school. You can all stay there… and help us."

"Who's "us"?" Bobby threw in. "And who's the professor?"

"The professor Charles Xavier," Scott said, looking ahead, although right now all we could see were clouds. "He is a mutant as well, a telepath. A powerful one. And by "us", I mean him and I. He rescued me a year ago, I've stood by his side since then."

"You've mentioned help?" Hank asked. "I would be delighted to bring my own contribution, but what kind of help are you two looking for?"

He didn't answer for a long moment, and I glanced at him. He licked his lips and, for the short second his cold demeanor fell, he suddenly looked very young. "Let me take you there," he finally said. "The professor will explain it better than I ever could."

* * *

As it was, the professor was a bit warmer than Scott. The latter stood in the corner like a medieval armor, watching the procedures, while the professor sat in a wheelchair. I could only name it that way, even though it didn't seem to have any wheels, but appeared to be hovering a few inches above the ground and emitting a slight, surprisingly comforting hum. We were provided chairs in the comfortable study, and I sat in the middle, Bobby on my right and Hank—whose arms and head _were_ slowly covering in pale blue hairs since the collar was removed, I was surprised to notice—on my left. 

The professor himself was bald, the top of his head shiny as a new penny, but he gave the each of us a long, thoughtful blue look. It made Bobby squirm uncomfortably on his seat, and after I stood the gaze and stared right back at him, making the thin lips of the so-far mute professor twitch up in what I supposed could be considered as a smile, Hank brought a curled—and furry—hand to his mouth and politely cleared his throat. "Professor Xavier?" he tried, and the man smiled and nodded. "Your… protégé mentioned explanations on our way here, and I was hoping you could enlighten us on the purpose of our presence here." He glanced at Bobby, Scott and me, and gave the professor a smirk. "These three look like they are barely out of their teenage puberty, but I can hardly be considered a student in a private high school." Scott, who was obviously a couple of years older than us, and certainly not in teenage puberty, took his turn to clear his throat, albeit much less politely, and I heard Bobby stifle a chuckle next to me. Score one for the blue guy. I liked him.

The prof leaned forward, resting his elbows on his mahogany desk, and steepled his fingers in a slow, calculated way. "The school is merely a cover," he said in a low tone. "Student or teacher, it hardly matters. The point of this place is to create not only a haven for mutants in need of help, but as well a base of operation for a team of mutants. A team that would help make a difference."

"What would that team do?" I asked with a frown.

The pale blue gaze switched to me, greeting the question with a homely smile. "It will become a team of heroes, Warren. A team of trained mutants, working for man and mutant kind. Mutants proud of their X-gene, united in the X-men."

That sounded like the kind of quote that would make history, and I was rather proud of being there to hear it. I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward, interested. "But how?" Bobby asked, and the prof switched his gaze to him.

"Humans are scared of what they don't understand. The X-gene is only going to spread; great dangers await humanity if an alliance between humans and mutants isn't created." He sighed, leaning back in his chair, fingertips still glued to each other. "Some humans might understand, and so might most mutants. But as many humans will not accept the presence of mutants and will seek to destroy them, many powerful mutants do believe that humans will eventually disappear, and are very willing to help evolution by… accelerating it."

"In short, you want us to join in a team of mutants who will protect the humans from such mutants?" Hank asked with a raising blue brow.

"And who will protect mutants from humans who wants them to disappear," Scott chimed in, stepping closer to the desk.

"If I can be of any help," Hank said, and stood up from his chair to lean over the desk and shake the professor's hand, "I will be glad to be a part of this association."

"I'm in," Bobby chirped, hoping to his feet and freezing his fists. "I've nowhere else to go, anyway." He smiled, and narrowed his eyes at Scott. I could only guess he narrowed them back behind the ruby colored lenses of his glasses, but his lips twitched up as well. They all turned to look at me.

"What about you, Mr. Worthington?" the professor asked with a smile, arching an aristocratic eyebrow.

I glanced at the four of them—a blue guy, one with a frown tattooed on his lips, a hyperactive ice-machine, and a hover-chair transported mind-reading old man—and smiled. I had had worse friends. I got to my feet, letting my wings unfold for show, and nodded.

"Count me in."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Nota Bene : Long note today; read it at the end. So sorry it took so long, I caught the writer's block in the very last part, so it took me a few months to write three paragraphs -- was supposed to be a whole page, in my defense...  
_

_Oh, and I know nothing about lack of oxygen and altitude pressure problems. Enlighten me if you are sure that I'm wrong and I'll correct it, but it doesn't matter much; the point is to understand that Warren isn't affected by either._

_Enjoy!_

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**Wings**

**Chapter 6**

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The first months went by fast. My parents were easy to convince to let me stay there. The security it offered (I did not tell my father that I was going to be trained to fight evil; I didn't think he'd like the idea much) convinced Dad, and since my mother still had no idea that I was a winged mutant, the fact it was a very private, very expensive private school convinced her. 

We worked hard. The prof _did_ insist we continue studying; he dropped books in our laps and—damn the man for being cultured—became a true professor. Hank helped, and even though it might sound nice to go to school with only three students and two teachers, one of which was a blue beast¸ it was even more work to us.

Aside from studying, we did what we were there to do: work on our powers. I spent that time working on my flight, and after learning to land (which I still couldn't do until a long time, rather curling up in a ball to protect myself and hoping the wall would be merciful) and take off from the ground, I moved on to more complicated ways of flying, spending most of my time above the mansion rather than inside.

You could say that life was good, and for the first time in a year, surrounded by friends I could trust, I felt that being a mutant might not have been so bad. I even came close to thanking the sentinels.

But not quite. Just close.

* * *

We were all frozen, glaring down at the things on the table. Oh they looked inoffensive enough. Pretty much like dead animals. Even Hank had a little black boxer shorty thing of his own to glare at, as the prof looked at us. "You're supposed to put them on," he said, lips twitching up. 

The damn man sounded amused.

Of course, his prof X uniform was a dress suit. It had a tie, but it still was just a suit.

We, littler mutants, were given spandex.

"No way," Bobby said, reaching out and poking his own black bundle of fabric. "We'll look like total geeks."

I snorted. "I think it's too late for that." I reached for my own white and blue folded uniform, tracing the small embroidered golden circle on the chest. My lips turned up despite myself. An angel? "I thought we were supposed to decide of our own codenames," I pointed out, looking up at the prof.

He smiled. "You decided of it by yourself, Warren. You don't have to say it out loud for me to hear it."

I smiled back, reaching for the uniform. I pulled it up, letting it unfold. It tied in two places in the back, above the wings, allowing me to wear something else than torn or cut clothes, and had a half-face mask, the professor understanding my need to hide my face. White boots and gloves were on the table as well, as was a small golden X-shaped thing that was probably a way of communicating with each other. I looked up. "It's not that bad, Bobby. Yours is black, at least."

He had unfolded his own and was raising an eyebrow at a black and silver uniform. "Yeah, I guess." He glanced at Scott, whose eyebrows were raised high above the ruby-lens glasses as he unfolded his own blue and yellow uniform, and proceeded to cackle like an annoying hyena, doubling up. "At least I won't look like I'm wearing my underwear over my pants!"

* * *

"Alright, Angel. That's enough now, come back down." 

I ignored the warning in the communicator on my chest, flapping my wings to go higher. A glance at the altimeter at my wrist showed 6,000ft; it didn't even feel hard at all, and I kept pushing. The clouds were coming closer and I grinned, flapping towards them. "Angel," came Scott's voice again. "Down. Now."

I rolled my eyes, smirking, and reached to tap the X-shaped communicator. "Breathe, Slim. A little more and I can tell you tomorrow's weather forecast."

"My codename is Cyclops when we're in training, Angel, please try to stick to it. And I don't care much about the forecast, this isn't the reason we're doing this."

"Aren't we doing this so we can know how far he can go?" another voice chimed in, and I grinned, taking it as acknowledgement to go further. I was in the clouds now; I could see nothing below, and nothing above, but the altimeter showed 7,500ft.

"Stay out of this, Drake. We're doing this to know _if_ he could reach the clouds. Now we know he can, and I want him on the ground. Angel!"

I didn't reply, emerging above the clouds. My breath caught at the sight. It was one thing to see it from a plane window, but it was another to just _be_ there; a shiver of pleasure ran through me as I glanced around at the sky, a pale pink at this time of the day, the sun setting far in front of me, and the white carpet of fluffy bluish white clouds beneath me. The wind was blowing hard, but it didn't bother me; we had discovered that my sight was not only much more piercing than a regular human's, but also that my eyes were resistant to strong winds. I simply opened my wings wide to let myself glide, letting the peace of the view settle in my chest.

A year ago, I was _complaining_ about having wings. Ha.

I glanced at the altimeter at my wrist: 10,000ft. I laughed, and then realized that the communicator was yelling at me. "Warren!" came Scott's voice, worried and tense enough to forget about the codenames. I quickly gave the communicator a tap.

"Here! I'm here. Sorry Slim, I just got… distracted."

"How high are you?" he asked, sounding very annoyed, but also curious.

I looked at my wrist, and grinned. "11,000ft."

"And _where_ are you?"

I arched my eyebrows. "Hard to tell. Over the clouds, I'm heading west, towards the sun. It's nice here, Slim, you should come with me one of those days. 12,000ft now."

"Of course, I'll think about it," he said in a dubious tone. "And it's Cyclops when we're in training."

"Can you breathe well?" asked Hank, cutting in.

"What will happen if you dive? Are you high enough to catch on fire?"

"Drake…" came Scott again.

"It's _Iceman_ when we're in training."

There was a short silence, and I decided to cut in before Scott's reply. "13,000ft," I said, rolling my eyes. "And I'm fine, Hank. I mean… Beast. I shouldn't be?"

"Not on such a short term, I don't think… but the pressure is quite low at such an altitude as yours, and you certainly are not getting the right amounts of oxygen your body should require. Are you not feeling dizzy at all?" he asked worriedly. "Are you breathing faster? If you should start hyperventilating, or…"

"I'm fine." I frowned and pushed higher. I was tiring, but determined. "13,500ft."

"Alright, Angel, that's enough. You'll never even _need_ to go as high as that."

I flapped my wings a bit more for challenge, but gave in to turn in a wide U-turn towards east again when I started to feel my muscles strain. I still remembered what happened the last time I ignored it. "I'm coming back, Cykes." I frowned as the wind ruffled my feathers; I was picking up speed very quickly. "Approximately how fast will I be going when I reach the ground, Beast?"

It took him a few moments before the communicator crackled again. "Mmph. Interesting question."

"_Now_ he worries about it," Scott grumbled.

"Fast enough to catch on fire, like an asteroid."

I ignored the last statement, and apparently Scott did too, or decided to manage with its owner face to face. In either case I didn't care. The wind was blowing harder and my eyes narrowed into slits.

"Be careful not to hit a bird," croaked the communicator. Surprisingly that helpful statement didn't come from Bobby, but Scott. As I felt the strain of speed painfully stretching my wings, it occurred to me that it wasn't a vain warning; hitting a bird would likely make me lose control and make me fall the rest of the last 10,000ft like a rock.

Or an asteroid.

I entered the clouds and came out in a flash, letting out a small gasp at the unknown view. I wasn't at all where I thought I was; I had probably not turned around enough to head back towards the mansion. The present matter, though, was to slow down. I knew I could reach nearly 130mph on normal flight. I had nearly broken my neck on the few times I tried diving, and reached well over 150mph on those times; I was probably around that at the moment, or more, judging from the roaring of the wind in my ears. My communicator was silent; Scott knew better than to break my concentration.

I did as I learned (by myself) over the last months, and started my descent in stages. I would stay at the same height for a time, long enough to slow down, and would go down a little while, before doing the same again. It took a long time, and I would have tried something a bit more adventurous had I been close, but all I could see at the moment were farms and endless cornfields. Not a good place for an emergency crash. I sighed when I reached my normal flight altitude, and tapped the communicator. "Cykes?"

"Yes?"

"Is there any way to figure out where I am?"

It was only when Scott laughed—not to mention he pressed the communicator so I would hear it—that you realized he didn't do it often enough.

* * *

I felt the air escape my lungs at the same time as I heard it gasp its way out of Scott's mouth. We were standing, all four of us, two on each side of the prof's desk as he slowly hovered across the study. We had been called to his office much too early in the morning, but I was fully awake now as I stared at the doorframe. 

She was standing there, staring at each of us. She didn't look older than us, but looked normal, too. Which, after Hank's blue fur, the prof's hover chair, my own wings, Cykes' visor and Bobby's perma-grin, it was unusual for us. Normality included bright red hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back, small freckles dusting her pale cheeks, under a pair of the brightest green I had ever seen. My heart was going mad in my chest as I simply stared at her, and I could feel my fingers itching to move and touch her hair. Damn. Three times damn.

I snapped my head around when the prof started speaking, and the girl stepped in, her lips turning up in a soft smile. "Gentlemen," the prof said, smiling wide at us as he outstretched his arm to take her hand. "Let me introduce us to the newest member of our team. This is Jean Grey."

* * *

_I know it's not what his real costume was, since he ices all over, but I wasn't going to put Bobby in nothing but a spandex Speedo and boots. I'm sure Marvel won't mind much, and he's not sexy enough yet to look good in something that doesn't leave a lot to imagination. _

_Not that a full spandex suit would, mind you._

_Thank you all for reviewing. I might have forgotten to reply to quite a few reviews, and if so I'm very sorry. Know that I still appreciate it very much. Welcome to the new readers, and I'm quite surprised about the number of people telling me they're SO thrilled to finally see a story about Warren. If he has so many fans, why isn't there any fanfics? (not true, there's a few, but not a lot) And fan websites! The poor guy has none; finding good pictures of him is hell._

_I was asked in a review if Scott was going to be a jerk and/or and asshole in this story, because they didn't like it much when he was depicted as so. I couldn't reply to the person directly; I'll reply here since it could interest others. I don't think Scott is such a mean character, I'd rather think fanfiction made him look much worse than he really is. He is, in my opinion, a very loyal man, both to his team and his love, very devoted to the cause (probably the X-man most devoted to the team's cause, or at least in the most selfless way), and willing to do anything to keep his team united. I think he lacks social skills, isn't much of a diplomat when it comes to telling someone something bad, and isn't the most merry character of the bunch, but I think that, aside from being hot (the visor makes us forget it, but damn, he is), he takes leadership very seriously, is a responsible and a good guy, and deserves more than the fate given to him in most fanfics. A perfect character has no conflicts, no plot, and usually no story; it's a boring character. A character with flaws is fun to work with and sounds more human; he's interesting to write and read about. Warren isn't perfect either, and can be an asshole as well. A lot of people see him as a stern, snobbish, spoilt little billionaire, and he is all of that… that's what makes him adorable. _

_Besides, I learned over time that no matter how mean, frowning, party-crasher, serious and overall pretty much anti-social I'll make a male character, if he looks pretty, someone somewhere is bound to fall in love with him and ask for more. **-WINKS-**_


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